An old letter
by Owlmemaybe
Summary: Jo borrowed an old book from Henry. Inside, she finds an unopened letter from Abigail to her husband. What will happen when she reads it?


**A/N:** This is my first fanfiction in this fandom, so constructive criticism is appreciated. Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Forever.

 **An old letter**

Henry and Abraham had once again invited Jo to dine at their apartment. There was currently no complicated case to investigate, and both Henry and Jo had been able to leave the precinct early. Henry had immediately offered her to dine with Abe and him and she had accepted. The doctor had then called Abe to warn him of Jo's presence.

Like the previous times, dinner with the two roommates had been both fun and intriguing. Abe had a talent for story-telling and never failed to make her smile with anecdotes about difficult clients in the shop. However, his stories about Henry – and sometimes himself – felt strangely _edited_ to the experienced ears of the detective. She had heard enough suspects attempting to cover someone to recognize such behaviour.

It was not really surprising, though. She had known since meeting Henry – and later Abe – that he was extremely secret. He confided in her more and more lately, and she hoped that he would soon be comfortable enough to tell her about his past.

It was quite disturbing when she stopped to think about what she actually knew about Henry Morgan's life. There was very little, and almost half of it came from his file and what the hacktivists had sent her. She knew where he had studied human medicine, and that he had worked as a gravedigger for some time. Clearly, the man had a strange fascination with death. She had never hated a sensor more than when Henry's had interrupted their conversation in the chamber of the suffocated hacktivist.

Once dinner was over, they wandered into the living room, conversation still flowing easily between the three of them. Jo noticed an overly stocked bookshelf and glanced at the titles. All the books were quite obviously old, which was expected. Henry appeared to have a grudge against modern inventions.

''If you wish, you can borrow a few. The books I read most are in my bedroom and I will not miss any of these if they disappear for a while.'' Henry offered when he saw her pull out one of the books.

''Ah'' Abe exclaimed. ''I believe you never read at least half of the books on that shelf! I honestly don't know why you insist on not selling them.''

Henry shrugged. ''Some were Abigail's favourites. Perhaps one day I will manage to finish one without falling asleep.''

As usual, Jo filed away the piece of information. Though she knew Henry and Abigail had been together for a while, he had never clearly said whether or not they had been married. From several discussions, she had gathered that Abigail had quite suddenly left. A divorce procedure was always time-consuming and she had never seen any ring on Henry's finger, so it seemed likely that they had not married. However, he had also acknowledged that they had unsuccessfully tried to have children and she had a hard time imagining Henry Morgan agreeing to have children out of wedlock – he was just far too old-fashioned for it.

Now, Abigail's departure appeared even more strange: why would she leave behind her favourites books, especially old editions which were probably quite rare? Though it was clear from Henry's remarks that she had left him to continue her own life elsewhere, in many ways the doctor behaved like she was dead. Had he heard of her unfortunate fate sometime after she left him? Perhaps she had planned to get back her belongings later on, but been unable to.

''Which one was her favourite?'' Jo asked, hoping to glean more information.

To her surprise, it was Abraham who walked to the bookshelf and took out one of the books before handing it to her. It seemed the older man had known Abigail quite well. Taking the offered book with a smile she quickly browsed the worn volume. It was apparently a book of poetry and the previous owner had annotated a lot of them. It seemed to be the perfect thing to give her an insight of the woman's character.

''Would you mind if I took this one for a few days?'' She asked, turning towards Henry. Sure, he had just told her that she could borrow any book she wanted from the shelf, but this one was his old love's favourite. She needed the confirmation.

With a shrug and a wave, Henry confirmed that he did not mind. His slightly lingering look at the book informed the detective that this indifference was more studied than genuine. Still she thanked him and soon returned to her home.

Once she was changed for bed, she settled comfortably and opened the old book, marvelling the hard cover and the quality of the paper. As much as she teased Henry about his passion for old things and disgust with modernity, she was forced to admit that this book held a charm that her own shiny new books lacked.

As she fingered the cover, she noticed a slight bulge on the back of the volume. Carefully, she inspected it until she found a discreet slit that had obviously been done with a sharp knife. It took her some time to extract the letter hidden inside – she did not want to ruin the book.

It was an unopened letter, addressed to Henry Morgan. She checked the other side to see if the writer's name was specified. Instead, she saw two words written in the same feminine hand: _I'm sorry._ A quick verification of the notes in the margins of the poetry book confirmed her suspicions that Abigail was the likely author of the letter. Given the short message outside the letter, Jo easily guessed that it was a letter she had hidden in her favourite book, hoping that Henry would stumble on it one day. It was equally clear that he had not.

The detective hesitated. Whatever was in this letter had to be personal, and might give her the key she needed to understand the Medical Examiner. Obviously, the right thing to do was to tell Henry of her discovery and give him the letter. But she was a widow herself, and knew that the need of closure was counter-balanced by the pain unexpected mementos could bring. And given what Abigail had written on top of the letter, it was highly likely that the content of this letter might hurt Henry.

Finally, she took a deep breath and decided to read the letter once, quickly. At least then, she could warn Henry of how painful the letter might prove to him, or discuss giving it to him with Abe in an educated manner.

And she was curious.

She opened the envelope, careful not to tear anything – she wanted to give it back to Henry in good shape. She quickly checked the signature at the end of the letter. _Abigail Morgan_. So they had been married after all. Adjusting her position against the headboard of the bed, she settled comfortably – the letter was quite long – and started to read.

 _My dear Henry,_

 _Ten years ago, I was the one sleeping while you were writing an adieu letter. I ran after you and convinced you of the stupidity of worrying about something that will not happen for many years. Therefore, you are probably surprised that I am now writing you such a letter – especially as I have absolutely no intention of leaving you anytime soon._

 _I simply do not expect you to find this letter until time has separated us. I intend to hide it in one of my books as soon as I seal it, and never think about it again. Because the matter I am about to discuss is difficult for the both of us, I will fully explore it in this letter once and for all and then spend the rest of my life enjoying my time with you and Abraham._

 _I have told you this many times before, I told you again tonight as we were dancing, and I will probably tell you again as we grow older. I know you do not want to think about it, but one of the things this horrible war has taught me is that life can sometimes be shorter than you expect. I take no pleasure in discussing this with you, but I believe it must be done before it is too late._

 _The day will come when I die, and you will survive me. And you will also survive our son Abraham._

 _I am your wife, and have been for over eight years, but I will not pretend that I understand the pain such perspective gives you. I know you have already lost many and suffer from it. I have also lost more than one cousin to this war. But unlike you, I have the privilege of ignorance, of not knowing whether I will be the one leaving or the one grieving. You, however, will always be the one grieving._

 _It is quite unfair that, when we took our vows, we both knew that ''as long as we both shall live'' was in fact ''as long as the wife lives''. Usually, couples are not so reminded of death on the day of their wedding. I will live my life, a happy life by your side, raising our dear son. Then I will die and join the Lord in Heaven. My only regret is that I know you will suffer from the losses – mine and Abraham's._

 _I told you that I am not the reason of your 'condition' – as you like to call it. I am convinced that you will find your purpose one day, perhaps centuries from now. I am one of the stages you have to go through, and I hope you will not stop advancing after I am gone._

 _I am not saying that I do not want you to mourn me. That would be stupid. But do not spend your eternity in grief either. I hope you will find another woman to support you and will share your secret with her. You should not bear this burden alone._

 _Now, I have said everything that needed to be said. From this day on, I will focus on the good moments and strive to create as many happy memories as possible with you, memories that will make you smile when you recall them in a few decades. If I have a purpose on this earth, I believe this is it. How else could you explain our meeting in a death camp, marvelling the miracle of finding a healthy baby in such a morbid place?_

 _Yours, forever and always,_

 _Abigail Morgan._

Well this letter was certainly enlightening. She had just learned that Henry and Abigail had been together for at least ten years, and had had a son. Which was in contradiction with what Henry had once told her.

Another strange thing was the purpose of the letter. Clearly, it was some sort of adieu letter, but one written perhaps years in advance. Yet, it was written ten years after their first meeting and Henry was about thirty-five years old. Plus, Henry had been working in the morgue and living with Abe for four years now. Therefore, Abigail had probably disappeared soon after writing the letter.

Obviously, both of them had known that they would be separated sooner or later. From the allusions in the letter, Jo's guess was that the young woman had suffered from some incurable illness that would eventually kill her. It was possible that she left, unable to bear the burden she was becoming for her husband. It might also explain why Henry had stopped caring for living patients.

Still, many details were disturbing. The detective was about to reread the letter when she noticed the date she had not bothered to read earlier. _S_ _atur_ _day, 1_ _4_ _th_ _May, 1955._

Impossible. This was impossible. Henry was thirty-five, his wife could not have written him a letter sixty years ago.

Yet, even as she struggled to accept what she was reading, her brain was quickly connecting the dots. _Our son Abraham._ A baby found in a death camp, in 1945 if the date on the letter was true. The tattoo Henry's roommate forearm. Abigail's certainty that Henry would outlive both herself and their son. The doctor's incredible knowledge. And this 'condition' mentioned in the letter.

Jo slowly reread the letter before putting it down on her bedside table with the book. She needed rest before she could even attempt to comprehend any discovery from this letter.

She laid awake for several hours, reviewing every conversation she had had or witnessed with Henry or his roommate. His _son_ , if her suspicions were correct. But such a thing was impossible. It was the kind of stuff you found in science-fiction novels and shows.

But how else could she explain the letter? The date could be false, of course, but what purpose would it serve? Besides, the paper was slightly yellowed by age and its texture was different from the one usually bought nowadays. Moreover, the letter was clearly heartfelt, and intended solely for Henry. In fact, if she was not so perturbed by the revelations, she knew she would be ashamed of such an intrusion in Henry's privacy.

Exhausted, she finally fell asleep.

The following day was intended for paperwork at the precinct. There were no murder to investigate for the moment but unfinished reports had been accumulating for a while, and Lt Reece had warned them that they would not be authorised to investigate new cases until they handed all of them. For once, Jo was grateful for the paperwork. She would not have to face Henry for a couple of days, and she could keep her interactions with Hanson to the minimal level – he would put down her shortness to her hate of paperwork.

In truth, she barely glanced at the reports in front of her. Instead, she took out Henry's file again and sent several e-mails to request more information – to the universities where he had studied, and to obtain a copy of any marriage certificate of Henry Morgan between 1945 and 1955. She also conducted a more simple research on the internet for any mention of a doctor named Henry Morgan during the World War Two.

She found that there had been a field surgeon named Henry Morgan in one of the army medical units. He had been part of the team who first reached Auschwitz. Further research confirmed the presence of a nurse called Abigail Harris in another unit which intervened at the same time. This corroborated part of the letter.

Because reflecting on the _how_ gave her a headache, Jo had decided to first gather evidence of Henry's life. Even if she did not find an explanation during this research, she would be able to confront the Medical Examiner without feeling crazy.

Clicking on another link, she found an old article from a London newspaper, dated from 1865, describing how a doctor called Henry Morgan had saved a child from a fire, with little concern for his own safety. The detective could not help the smile that the story brought on her lips. If the portrait in the article had not confirmed that it was indeed her partner, this complete lack of survival instinct would have. But she was starting to suspect that he might not need a survival instinct.

She received the answers to her e-mails shortly before ending her day-work. She was no longer surprised to find that his diplomas were true but that the date of birth he had given to the universities were different from the one in her own file. More precisely, it was the year that was changed. A quick addition and she concluded that he chose the year that would make him officially thirty years old when he arrived in a new place. The marriage certificate was dated from 1947. There were no certificate of birth of any child born to Abigail Morgan.

Once she reached her home, Jo fixed herself a strong coffee and reviewed all she had found so far.

One. Henry had been born before 1865, and always looked in his mid-thirties. He had been a doctor for a long time.

Two. He had met Abigail Harris in Auschwitz, in 1945. They had found a baby in the death camp – Abraham – and had obviously adopted him. They married two years later.

Three. For some reason, Henry was not subjected to the laws of age and time, and Abigail knew it. She had written this letter to help him move on after her unavoidable death, as well as Abraham's.

Four. He had never told her of his 'condition', but she could remember several hints he dropped. And he had allowed her to take a book annotated by his late wife – he had not known about the letter, but the possibility of her finding something in the margins of the book must have occurred to him. As much as she wanted to be angry at him for not telling her himself, she could not. First, because she had read a personal letter. Then, because it seemed he had wanted to tell her.

And honestly, she had no idea how to confront Henry, so telling her would have been equally, if not more, complicated.

Leaning back in her sofa, she remembered the times he had sacrificed his own safety for her sake. Each time, he must have been aware that she would witness whatever it was that made him still alive today. Indeed, she was now convinced that he _had_ jumped off the roof during their first case.

The first case! She had seen him get inside the train, but never wondered how he escaped afterwards. Taking out Henry's file again, she saw the list of his arrests for public indecency. With some dread, she searched for one on the date of the train-wreck. Perhaps those skinny dippings were his way to deal with recent near-death experiences?

She did find one, but the time was strange. Apparently, the arrest had happened barely ten minutes after the accident. There was no way he could have walked all the way from the station in such a short time. Yet, she had proof of the fact that he had entered the train.

With a deep sigh, the detective admitted to herself that she would not be able to find any more answers from anyone but Henry himself – or Abraham. But how could she face him after investigating him behind his back, reading a letter from his wife, and finding out something so unbelievable? She had effectively betrayed his trust by her actions, and could not decently march into his home and demand explanations.

She did not want to lose her friend and partner, but she belatedly realized that she might have damaged their relationship beyond repairs. Nor could she continue as though nothing had happened. At this point, her only hope was that Henry had indeed been planning to tell her sooner and later, and would accept her apology after she informed him of her foundings.

o0oOo0o

''Detective! I did not expect to see you, I am afraid I have no body for you to investigate. Have you finally finished your impressive pile of reports?'' Henry greeted her when she entered the morgue the following day.

She could not help the slight smirk at the thought of her paperwork. ''I always worked late, which means I had much less behind in my reports than Hanson. I am nearly finished, but he will probably be at it for a couple more days.''

She hesitated, remembering the reason for her visit. Glancing around, she observed that the morgue was nearly empty – it was quite early.

''Actually, I needed to talk to you about something. In private.'' She added quickly.

With a worried frown and a nod, Henry invited her in his office. She carefully closed the door behind them.

''What is the matter, Jo?'' He asked when she did not immediately explain her need for privacy.

''I… Well, I found a letter in the book you lent me. From Abigail. To you. It was hidden in the cover.'' Henry's surprise was expected, but she now that she had started talking she could not stop. She would never find the courage to speak again if she did.

''I know I had no right to, but I read it. I did not want to hand you a letter that might cause you pain. But…'' She trailed off and closed her eyes. She did not want to see Henry's expression right now. She needed to finish her confession first. ''Many of her allusions were unsettling, and the letter was dated from 1955. So I made some research and…'' Her voice broke.

''And you found that Abigail and I would have to be nearly a hundred by now.'' Henry said softly.

Her eyes still closed, she nodded. ''Among other things.''

She heard him sit in his chair. ''Have a seat, Jo.'' He said, his voice containing none of the anger or betrayal she expected. She slowly opened her eyes and sat down. He looked at her in the eyes and smiled. ''I am not angry. I have been wanting to tell you for a long while, but was afraid you would have me committed. Really, your investigation has saved me a lot of worrying.''

She shook her head. ''It was under-handed. I should not have done it. And don't worry, I will not tell anyone. I never wanted to harm you.''

''I know. But the past is past, and I doubt you could forget what you found, nor would I want you to. But I suppose you have many questions.'' She nodded.

He rose and grabbed his coat. ''There are no bodies to cut open today, and you said you were nearly finished with your paperwork. How about we both take the day off and go to the shop where I can answer your questions without risk of someone barging in?''

Jo smiled, finally convinced that there were no hard feelings. ''I believe it is a great idea, Doctor Morgan.'' She quickly called her superior and then guided him to her car.

On their way to the shop, Jo glanced at her partner. He looked both relieved and nervous. She understood these feelings easily – she felt much the same at the moment.

''I know I am supposed to wait until we are at your place, but can I ask you just one question now?'' She asked him.

''Go ahead.''

''Is Abe truly your son? Adopted son?''

Henry grinned. ''Yes, he his. Your investigation must have been quite thorough.''

She smiled in response, letting out a nervous laugh. ''This is so odd.''

Finally, she parked in front of the shop. The door was locked, and the sign displayed 'close'.

''Abraham planned to spend the days with old friends from his regiment.'' Henry explained as he opened the door and ushered her in.

Ten minutes later, they were both comfortably seated in the living room, with steaming cups of tea in front of them. Upon seeing the documents she had gathered, Henry had retrieved a few photo albums.

''Well, here we are. You can start the questioning, Detective.'' Henry said with a smile.


End file.
